


Of all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you

by PoliticalPadmé (magnetgirl)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-04 12:46:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12771378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetgirl/pseuds/PoliticalPadm%C3%A9
Summary: Owen and Beru make space in their life for Luke.





	Of all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nichestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nichestars/gifts).



They have a day to prepare.

The call came in as Beru was cooking, almost exactly one cycle before their lives changed forever. Off-planet communication is a novelty in their home, though with the news out of Coruscant, they did wonder about Owen's enigmatic stepbrother.

Dead. His wife, too. But they left behind a son. A baby, hours old, a war orphan who needs a home. They agree immediately. Of a certainty. No question. That's how it works on Tatooine. They look out for their own.

Beru spends the day in a flurry of activity. Clearing and cleaning the second bedroom, that had become cluttered after Cliegg's death. Moving spare parts, tools, and half-finished projects from the main house and into the workshop. She creates a crib out of an empty crate and a pile of blankets, and sets it up in their bedroom. She goes to market to stock up on fresh milk and obtain a small collection of baby clothes.

Owen spends the day brooding. Worrying about the expenses. Plotting what to tell the neighbors. Wondering how to to talk to a baby. How to feed a baby. How to hold a baby. He gathers a handful of tools, approximately six pounds, into a blanket and sits in the kitchen, holding it in his arms the way he'd seen women in town.

"Owen?"

He abruptly drops the tools onto the table, but the sand walls muffle the clang. _Good_ , he thinks, imagining a baby's cries filling the space. Beru steps into sight with a basket of food to put away.

"Is everything alright?" she asks, taking in Owen's furrowed brow and the odd assortment of tools on the table.

He nods. "I should get some extra hours in." He stands. "We probably won't have time tomorrow."

"Put those away first," his wife admonishes as she tucks vegetables and milk into the cold storage, and an assortment of biscuits and meal packets into the cupboard.

Owen gathers the tools back up into the blanket and returns them to his workspace. On the way back up top, he pauses at the doorway to the kitchen. Beru is carefully cleaning a small collection of glass bottles. They've not spoken of it in years, not since they were first courting, but he knows she's wanted a baby. He's been reluctant. Life on Tatooine is harsh and unforgiving. His mother, stepmother, and father all succumbed to the desert in one way or another. Beru's parents, too. He worries enough about her, about losing her, or leaving her alone if anything happened to him. Bringing a child into this world seems cruel to him.

Anakin escaped. The slave who won his freedom in a race. Shmi used to speak of that day as if it was the best of her life. The city entire cheering for her tiny human son. It sounds impossible to Owen, even now.

"I think we're ready." Beru's bright voice cuts through his musings, drawing Owen back to the present. He doesn’t feel ready. He feels terrified. If Shmi's hero son, a wizard and genius, with friends among magicians, politicians, and royalty, could not save his son from a life on Tatooine, what possible chance did Owen have?

But he swallows his fear and gathers his wife into his arms. "The baby is lucky to have you," he murmurs into her hair.

"Us," she stresses, her face upturned to meet his eyes. "He's lucky to have us." Owen presses his lips to her forehead, then tilts her chin up to kiss her mouth. He leads her into the bedroom, past the makeshift crib, and draws her down onto the bed. They probably won't have time tomorrow.

They don't sleep the first night. The baby is quiet. Too quiet, for what they expected, and it keeps Beru awake, staring at the ceiling, listening for any sound, any indication Luke needs her. The preternatural stillness lasts a week. Awake or asleep, Luke is calm and barely makes a sound. Beru is worried. Owen is wary. And secretly afraid. Just what did they bring into their home?

But as the suns dip low in the sky on the sixth day, Luke starts to wail. Beru runs across the sand to his basket and plucks him up into her arms, murmuring gentle nonsense words to soothe him. Owen watches from a ridge. Beru's face is lit up in the dying light, glowing from without and within as she cares for a child that finally needs her.

The first months are lived in isolation. Beru goes to market twice a week, and Owen visits town every seventh day, but Luke remains on the homestead with whichever parent is available. Beru carries him around the property, babbling about its uses and history. Owen scowls, but smiles when she's not looking.

Harvest brings new problems. Owen cannot work the farm alone and must travel to the city to hire for the season. Normally, Beru accompanies him, to conduct business while he’s finding workers. It will take twice as long, and cost twice as much, to leave her behind. Undaunted, she convinces him to let her strap Luke, now four months old, to her back for the journey. It’s not half as awkward as Owen worried. Most of their peers are too busy to wonder where the baby came from, others barely seem to notice. Only the old woman he’s known since childhood -- he tries to hire at least one of her family each year -- takes the time to ask.

"Our nephew, Luke Skywalker."

"Skywalker? Shmi's boy?"

"Yes."

"Skywalker," she murmurs, with a kind of reverence. "I remember him. So curious. And kind." She pictures the small blonde child taking her hand to duck under a doorway when the sand kicked up. She was old even then, ancient now, but she remembers his face screwed up with determination to protect her. "Whatever happened to that boy?"

"He joined the war," Owen explains in a flat voice. "It killed him."

Beru catches sight of him as they are packing to go. "Owen, look." She gestures past the crowd, to the former Jedi master watching from the shadows. "We should say hello. Invite him for dinner."

Owen's eyes go dark. "He's dangerous."

"He doesn't look dangerous. He looks sad."

Owen glances over, to brown eyes gazing from beneath the cowl of his cloak. His posture is weary, as if merely standing takes more energy than he can give. Owen sighs, ties off a tarp on their land speeder and ushers his wife and nephew toward the forlorn wizard.

"Master Kenobi." Owen nods in greeting.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. "Ben. I'm going by Ben now."

Owen nods again. Beru lifts Luke out of the sling she fashioned to carry him and holds him out to Ben. The Jedi’s eyes brighten as he touches a tentative finger to the baby’s cheek. Luke gurgles, and while it’s more likely gas than a response, a smile crosses Kenobi’s face.

"He's bigger every day," Beru says, and launches into a rundown of Luke’s daily activities. Ben listens intently, hungry for information, and human interaction. Owen watches quietly, his arm draped over Beru's shoulders, filled with pride and love for his wife. The Jedi refuses their invitation for dinner, but Owen knows Beru will not give up so easily. She will convince him someday, stuff him full of food, send him home with a pile of blankets and a hamper. That's how it works on Tatooine. They look out for their own.

It's dark when they return. Owen locks the speeder up full, deciding to unload everything in the morning. Beru passes a sleeping Luke to her husband and heads to the kitchen with parcels of fruit. He carries the child into the bedroom and places him gently in the crib. Ten minutes later, Beru finds him still there, watching the baby's tiny chest rise and fall. She slips her hand in his.

"I love him," Owen murmurs with wonder. He'd accepted the child out of duty, protected him out of fear. He meant to raise, honor, and respect the child and the family he'd lost. He'd convinced himself it would be enough, that the boy had Beru's all encompassing love and immediate affection.

"I love _you_ ," she answers, smiling. She's always known how pliable Owen's emotional walls really are.

He reaches a hand to her head, lets loose the tight buns so her long hair frames her face. He brushes her lips with his and moves to usher her to the bed. Harvest season starts in earnest in the morning. But tonight, there is only each other, as Luke dreams.


End file.
